The Devil: Is he all bad?

Alan Watts has remarked that in some ways, Satan is the most significant character in Christianity (Myth and Ritual in Christinaity). Nowadays, he has mainly descended to become a comic buffoon, primarily concerned with crude and mindless violence and the inflicting of pain. Though perhaps that describes, in outcome at least, what we, via our elites have become.

 

Still, Satan, Lucifer, the devil has a much more interesting history and role, if one is prepared to dig a little. Christianity inherits much of its scriptures from Judaism, and thus it inherits the Jewish fall. However, it may feel to Jews, I think to Christians, the fall of Adam and Eve seems slightly odd. The punishment of the expulsion from Paradise for eating an apple from a tree that God has planted in his garden (why plant it, if it’s so bad!?), when tempted by a particularly sneaky creature which God has also created, seems incredibly harsh.

 

One can rationalize the story as, not God punishing humanity for disobeying him, but the expulsion from Eden being simply the natural consequence of learning of good and evil. The story is an allegory for what it means to be human. One imagines that animals and human babies don’t distinguish themselves from their environment. The world happens, and part of that happening is what they do, but they don’t know it is them doing it. Becoming human is learning to distinguish yourself from your environment – those clouds over there moving is nothing to do with me; this arm reaching up for an apple is me. This basic polarity between me and not-me gets extended and refined, and itself differentiated until we are who we are. Allegorically, this polarity might be represented by male-female, or even better knowledge of good and evil. The world is not all of a piece, but some bits are good (especially me) and some bits are evil (especially bits which want to hurt or kill me).

 

Thus, allegorically, to be human is to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. And eating of it necessarily means death, because life and death are one of the primordial polarities and a very strong basis for good and evil. If you can distinguish yourself from the universe, then there is a ‘you’, and since nothing lasts for ever, to distinguish is to die.

 

So, the tale can be made to make sense, but as a tale, it seems a bit lame. God sets up a wonderful garden, in which all wants and needs are catered for. But for some reason, God has planted a poisonous tree amongst all the rest, and just to make sure, he points out that the delicious looking fruits are actually evil (though Adam and Eve don’t understand that yet) and will kill them (they don’t understand that concept either). And, just to make doubly sure, God creates a sly serpent and pops that into the garden too. The phrase “I could have written the script” immediately comes to mind. Having neatly baited the trap, the innocent humans blunder into it and God responds with an entirely disproportionate punishment.

 

However this may seem to Judaism, to Christians, this seems a bit unfair. Punishment is okay if one has knowingly done something wrong, but the ultimate sanction for being placed in a situation where you can simply roll like a ball down a slope does not seem just. And not only the ultimate sanction for Adam and Eve, but for all humanity…that’s not something which an individualistic Westerner can accept.

 

Christianity, of course, has its own Fall, which is very much more to its liking. Lucifer was, is, the greatest of God’s creation – the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the best. And, that is his problem, with his mighty intellect, he foresees something which is wrong. He foresees that God will do something which is wrong. What a bind that puts him in. God, the creator and sustainer of everything, the very being of Lucifer’s being, will do something that is wrong. Lucifer can clearly foresee this, what should he do? Most people know that he should do all that he can to stop it, even though this means pitting himself against his boss, and not just any boss, but the boss of everything. Once rebellion is made, there is nowhere to hide, because God is everywhere. Most people, despite knowing what they ought to do, would, of course, do nothing and acquiesce in whatever crime was being planned.

 

But not Lucifer. He stands up for what he believes is right and he is defeated and exiled. It is never really clear what Lucifer thought was wrong. It is said that Lucifer objected to the elevation of coarse, smelly humanity to a position above his own – that he should bow down to Adam who was given dominion over the earth, or to Mary designated as Mother of God, or even to the human form of the son of God.

 

There is something in this, of course. A basic notion of fairness, of just desserts, says that Lucifer, as the greatest being of creation should have that position recognized. But I think that there must be something more to the story to make sense. Rank and precedence is really rather childish as an ultimate principle. It’s the product of a courtly mindset (as is much of the symbolism for the Christian God), and though no doubt it it’s a delightful game if you’re in that environment, it shouldn’t really be the fundamental issue of the universe, and one would hope that the most wonderful creature in all creation was above such silly games

 

Ivan Karamazov gives us a more compelling reason for Lucifer’s rebellion. The Grand Inquisitor confidently asserts that the Church now works for Satan. He also asserts that the Church does so out of love for the people. Because, whatever God may say, the situation he has created does not look like love. It looks like love for the few and nothing for the many. One can imagine that as Lucifer gazed upon the divine plan, he was horrified to see that this is what was to pass. That, as the Grand Inquisitor shows, is something noble enough to justify rebellion.

 

This seems far more reasonable as a cause of the fall. Rather than the greatest creature in all creation worrying over a courtly snub, he is motivated by good, by love of humanity. The only question then, is the one that Ivan raises, how can a good God seemingly only save a very few?

The Grand Inquisitor

Within Dostoyevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov, there is a short, but very powerful piece in which Ivan describes to his brother, Alyosha, a poem which he was thinking of writing, called, The Grand Inquisitor. It describes a return to earth by Jesus, and his meeting with the eponymous Inquisitor. It puts forward a particular stance upon Christianity, which is relevant to this blog.

 

In summary, Jesus returns to earth, to 16^th century Seville, not as a second coming, but as a consolation for the faithful. Even though he does not speak, the people recognize him as Jesus and follow him. He performs various miracles, curing a man’s blindness and raising a young girl from the dead.

 

However, he is observed by the Grand Inquisitor, who orders his men to seize Jesus and throw him in jail. That night, the Inquisitor visits Jesus in prison and confesses to him what the church has done. The Inquisitor puts before Jesus, the three temptations which Jesus suffered at the hands of the devil in the desert – that Jesus should cause the people to love him by feeding them; that he should cause them to love him by performing a miracle; that he should assume rule over the world and unite all people into one kingdom under him. The Inquisitor notes that Jesus rejected these three stratagems for turning the people to him, since they would have meant that the people were not freely loving Jesus. Jesus wanted the people to freely love him above all else.

 

But, the Inquisitor observes, this is placing far too heavy a burden on most people. Most of humanity is weak, most are like children, and they cannot live up to what Jesus is expecting of them. So, whatever he may say about loving the people, Jesus does not actually do so. How can setting someone an impossibly high goal, and requiring that they achieve it, be loving them?

 

The church has seen what is happening, and has turned to those whom Jesus rejects and shown them love. The Church has given into the temptations in the desert and it uses miracle, mystery and authority to cause the people to love them and so save them from the dreadful freedom that is otherwise on offer. The people think that they are following Jesus and loving him, but they are really following bread and miracles. Still, the people are happy; the only unhappy ones are those in the Church who know of the deception. They are the ones who are strong enough to choose freedom and follow Jesus, but don’t; they follow the devil, because they love the people and want to make them happy.

 

Essentially, Ivan has raised a form of the problem of predestination. It seems as if God has created the majority of humanity to be damned, with just a small percentage strong enough to be saved. Most people are naturally revolted by the picture painted by the problem of predestination. It seems monstrous, and some of the solutions offered – that God is wonderful for saving anyone, for instance – put one in mind of small boys burning ants with a magnifying glass and letting a few get away.

 

To his credit, the Grand Inquisitor has reacted to this situation by offering hope to the people. Instead of condemning them, or ignoring them, the Church ministers to the weak. The church proclaims miracle, mystery and authority. And sometimes the church has given real bread to the poor. The church remains rich and the poor poor, but the poor can be grateful for whatever crumbs fall from the church’s table.

 

But how much easier is it for the Church to offer us this compelling case, than to directly proclaim what Jesus has to offer? – himself, and nothing more. He is not offering freedom from want; or life after death; or heavenly justice to compensate for all the injustice that is suffered upon earth. He is simply offering himself, whatever that may mean. That is a tough sell. Much easier to sell the opposite, and much more comforting. Much kinder to people – one gives them hope, rather than cruelly dashing it from their lips.

 

And, for the Church, for those who know, it is perhaps hard. They know the dreadful truth that there is nothing. But, for the sake of the people, the children, who are too weak to bear this nothing, they smile and say that all will be well. They know that the showers are really gas chambers, but it is kinder to the children not to say this. Better to play the games and sing the songs and smile than to tell the terrible truth and blight the little bit of life that they can cling to.

 

Who else would not do the same? If life is tragic rather than comic, there are few who can bear the tragedy and come out the other side. Better to pretend that life is comic. There is a nobility to tragedy and one can imagine Lucifer would bear it well (isn’t that what his story is about?). But perhaps nobility is somewhat over-rated. The tragic hero tends to take an awful lot of people with him as he thrashes around under his fate (and how many tragic non-heroes die for no gain at all?). The comic hero muddles through, somehow saving his comrades through his foolishness.

Master or Servant?

For many years, I have felt bothered by the resurrection of Jesus. Not by the fact that it occurred (or didn't), but by the fact that it didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the story. For some 30 years, there was a poor man living in Palestine; after he died, he became the Lord of the Universe, for ever.

Obviously, people’s situations change, and the phrase “rags to riches” is in common use, but what seemed odd to me was that the message of the first 30 years (or the two to three years of ministry which we are presented in the Gospels) seemed very different from the Lord of the Universe, seated at the right hand of God picture which is running now and for ever. The first thirty years were ones of service, the suffering servant and so on. The rest of forever, is one of dreadful majesty. This seemed quite a contrast.

Now, one can of course rationalise and explain this, and the Church has spent the last 2,000 years doing so. But, just in terms of a pre-rationalized set of images, the before and after are very different, and they send very different messages. In the context of ruling for ever, a few years slumming it with the poorest seems a little like a gap year working in the third world,  between public school and a place at Oxford. It looks good on the C.V. but, thankfully, it is over now. The experience was had, but now one can get back to the serious business of taking one’s rightful place and ruling the universe. The service was real, but it wasn’t forever. What is, forever, is the ruling.

Now, how does this present itself to the human mind? Is God, “Lord” or is God “servant”? I would suggest the former rather than the latter. Assuming that Jesus had a message, which he delivered during his ministry, it wasn’t really “Lord”. So, what has gone on here? And have we perhaps ended up with the wrong message and the wrong Jesus?